The return journey to Deepwood Keep took two weeks.
When the massive caravan finally emerged from the tree line the sentries on the wooden walls blew their horns. It was a sound of relief mixed with shock. They had expected their Lord to return with perhaps a wagon of food.
They did not expect a invasion force.
Two hundred workers. Fifty ox carts piled high with grey dust and barrels. A squad of musketeers marching in perfect unison.
Old Cullen ran out to meet them. He looked thinner than before but his eyes lit up when he saw Andar.
"My Lord!" Cullen gasped, looking at the endless line of wagons. "You... you brought an army?"
"I brought a workforce Cullen," Andar dismounted. "And I brought the future."
He tossed the reins to a stable boy.
"Where is Mott?"
"In the smithy My Lord," Cullen said, trotting to keep up. "He has been making the iron tubes you asked for. But... My Lord... the food..."
"We have food," Andar gestured to the rear wagons. "Enough for six months. But right now I care about the walls."
Andar stopped and looked at the defensive walls of his home.
They were pathetic.
They were made of timber logs driven into the ground. They were rotting. Moss grew in the cracks. A strong man could probably kick a hole in them. If a fire arrow hit them they would burn like kindling.
"Tear them down," Andar said.
Cullen froze. "My Lord?"
"I said tear them down," Andar said calmly. "All of them. The palisade. The wooden towers. Clear the ground."
"But... the Wildlings!" Cullen cried. "If we tear down the walls we will be naked! If a raid comes we will be slaughtered in our beds!"
"We have the Iron Squad," Andar said. "Fifty muskets can hold this open ground better than those rotting logs ever could. Do it Cullen. I want the perimeter cleared by tomorrow noon."
The next morning the castle looked like an anthill that had been kicked over.
The new workers from White Harbor were earning their pay. They swung axes and pulled ropes. The ancient wooden walls of Deepwood Keep groaned and crashed to the ground sending clouds of dust into the air.
The local villagers watched in horror. They felt exposed. They felt unsafe.
Andar stood in the center of the muddy clearing. Next to him were three large piles.
Pile one: Limestone.
Pile two: Volcanic Ash (Pozzolana).
Pile three: Sand.
"Water!" Andar ordered.
Jory and his men brought buckets of water from the stream.
"Mix it," Andar commanded.
The workers looked at the piles of dirt. They were confused. They were stonemasons. They were used to cutting granite blocks. They were used to chisels and hammers.
"My Lord," a burly mason from White Harbor stepped forward. "You hired me to build walls. I know how to stack stone. I do not know how to play in the mud. This... this soup... it will just wash away in the rain."
"It is not mud," Andar said, rolling up his sleeves. "It is liquid stone."
He grabbed a shovel.
"Watch."
Andar began to mix the ingredients. He followed the ratio the Romans used two thousand years ago. One part lime. Two parts ash. Aggregate rocks. Water.
As he mixed the water into the grey powder a strange thing happened.
Steam began to rise.
The mixture hissed.
"It is hot!" a worker shouted, jumping back. "The mud is boiling!"
"It is chemistry," Andar said, not stopping. "The lime is reacting. It is waking up."
He pointed to the wooden frame he had built on the ground. It was a simple box shape.
"Pour it in."
They shoveled the steaming grey sludge into the wooden mold. It looked disgusting. It looked like grey porridge.
The mason shook his head. "My Lord this is madness. When this dries it will crumble. You cannot build a castle out of porridge."
"Wait," Andar said.
Four hours later.
The sun was high in the sky. The mixture in the box had stopped steaming. It had settled.
Andar walked over to the mold. He tapped the side of the wood. It sounded solid.
"Mott," Andar called out.
The blacksmith came over, holding his heavy iron hammer.
"Yes My Lord?"
"Hit it," Andar pointed to the grey block.
Mott looked at the "mud" block. He looked at his hammer. He shrugged. He expected the hammer to sink into the soft earth with a wet splat.
Mott raised the hammer high. He swung down with half his strength.
CLANG.
A sound like a bell being struck rang out across the courtyard.
The hammer bounced off the block. The vibration traveled up Mott's arm shaking his bones. He dropped the hammer in shock.
"What..." Mott stared at the block.
There was not even a scratch on it.
The mason from White Harbor pushed forward. He fell to his knees. He touched the grey surface. It was smooth. It was cold. It was harder than the sandstone he usually worked with.
"It turned to stone," the mason whispered. "In four hours... it turned to stone."
He looked up at Andar with fear in his eyes.
"Is this Valyrian magic?"
"No," Andar said loud enough for everyone to hear. "This is Concrete. And with this we do not need to cut rocks from the quarry. We do not need to haul stones for miles."
Andar stomped his boot on the block.
"We can pour a castle. We can pour roads. We can pour bridges."
He opened his arms addressing the stunned crowd of workers and villagers.
"You thought I was mad to tear down the wood. You thought we were naked."
He pointed to the horizon.
"We are going to build a Star Fort. The walls will be twenty feet thick. They will be solid rock. No trebuchet will crack them. No dragon fire will melt them."
He turned to the mason.
"Do you still think it is mud?"
The mason stood up. He grabbed a shovel. His eyes were burning with the realization of what this meant. A man who controlled this material could build a city in a month.
"No My Lord," the mason shouted. "It is the foundation of the world!"
"Then get to work!" Andar ordered. "I want the first bastion poured before sunset!"
[Quest Complete: The Foundation]
[Tech Unlocked: Roman Concrete]
[Construction Speed: Increased by 500%]
[New Blueprint: Star Fort (Bastion Design)]
Andar watched them work. The fear was gone. Replaced by a fanatical energy.
Deepwood Keep was gone.
Fortress Deepwood was being born.
But as the first walls rose Andar noticed Jory standing by the gate looking North.
"What is it Jory?"
"A rider My Lord," Jory pointed. "From the coast. He is riding hard."
Andar narrowed his eyes. The coast was only ten miles away.
The rider galloped into the clearing. His horse was foaming. The man fell out of the saddle. He was bleeding.
"My Lord!" the scout gasped. "Ships! Black sails!"
Andar felt a cold chill.
"Ironborn?"
"Yes My Lord! Three longships. They landed at the Stony Shore. They are burning the fishing village. They are killing everyone."
The workers stopped. The silence of fear returned.
The Ironborn. The terrors of the sea. For centuries they had raped and pillaged the North. When the Ironborn came the smallfolk ran.
Cullen grabbed Andar's arm. "We must flee My Lord! We must hide in the Wolfswood! We cannot fight them in the open!"
Andar shook off the old man's hand.
He looked at the half finished concrete wall. He looked at the smoking blast furnace.
"Hide?" Andar asked softly.
He turned to Jory.
"Sound the assembly."
"My Lord?"
"I said sound the assembly!" Andar roared. "Iron Squad! To arms!"
He walked toward the armory where the new cannons were waiting under canvas tarps.
"They chose the wrong day to raid," Andar said, his voice cold as the winter wind. "Today we do not pour concrete. Today we pour blood."
...…
Author Note
Hi guys! Thank you for reading my fanfiction.
I wanted to let you know that I'm releasing bonus chapters for Power Stones. Here are the goals:
25 Power Stones: 1 Bonus Chapters
50 Power Stones: 1 Bonus Chapters
75 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
100 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
Thanks for the support!